What If?
by mt1223
Summary: "I'm pregnant." His heart skipped a beat. Sure, he didn't expect to be a father now, but eventually. All his dreams entailed having children with the woman in front of him. Why would she be sorry? "And it's not yours."


**Disclaimer: I do not, and never will, own the show iCarly or the characters in this fanfiction.**

The room was on fire that night. Or perhaps it was just the way the candlelight reflected in her clear blue eyes and how the glass chandelier's light dulled in comparison to her silky blonde hair. The restaurant has become her favorite in recent years, shortly after her questionable favorite rib place was shut down by the health department. Now, she grumbles as she slips on the dress necessary to dine out, but he always noticed how her eyes glowed as she looked at herself in the mirror.

"It's only because they're the only place in Seattle with good ribs. L.A. was where it was at." She would let out a half-hearted laugh and move on to another subject, but it was then that he felt the guilt of what he had done to her. It was her who left everything behind so that he could run his start-up in Seattle. It was her who insisted that they move just three blocks from his mother's home even though the women had never gotten along. It was her who poured her babysitting savings into the deposit for the apartment because he could barely afford to keep his business afloat. And he had not argued otherwise. He was happy, unbelievably so, but always lingering was the thought that she would regret one day leaving her life to live with him.

He did not think of these things now. Instead, he was focused on the beautiful woman who sat before him, a forced smile on her face and a salad untouched before her. "Sam." One syllable. She looked up at him and saw the wall she had so vigilantly built crumble. Worry washed over him, for her, but also selfishly for himself as well. Tonight was supposed to be magical. The night they'd tell their children about, brag to their friends about how perfect it was. She would call him sappy but would call Carly right after dinner since she's been asking when the time would come since their first anniversary almost a year ago. But now she wasn't happy. Not then, maybe not ever. The small box in his pocket felt like lead as he assumed the worse. _She's breaking up with me. She found someone better. She regrets moving back to Seattle._ On and on played the scenarios like a motion-picture show running at a million miles a minute.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked. It wasn't the right question, but it was all he could muster when his fight-or-flight response was telling him flight like it had all his life before he met her. He could already feel himself collapsing in angst if he lost the only reason that he would stay and fight.

Tears were coming from her eyes. And that was when he knew it was bad. He had known her for most of his life and in all that time, could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her cry. He had always counted the time her mother died as one time, because it felt like the tears would never stop. Even at night, when she was curled tightly into his side, he would feel her body shake with choked out sobs from whatever plagued her nightmares. After almost a month, she awoke one morning, poured a bowl of cereal, and declared, "Fuck it." He had never told her, but sometimes at night he still felt her body tremor, but never any more tears.

Yet, the tears had returned. "F-freddie," she choked out. "I'm sorry." _Sorry._ His head was spinning. Why would she be sorry? His worst fears seemed to be on the doorstep and he was left defenseless and utterly blind.

"What for, Sam?" She didn't speak as she tried to keep composure. His anxiety was mounting, taunting him for every millisecond that she didn't just come out with it. Time drug on for eternity.

"I'm pregnant." His heart skipped a beat. Sure, he didn't expect to be a father now, but eventually. All his dreams entailed having children with the woman in front of him. Why would she be sorry? "And it's not yours."

His stomach dropped lower than should have been possible, all daydreams suddenly cut short. His hands were shaking, but he picked up his glass of wine and quickly swallowed the ruby liquid. Maybe it would make everything hurt less.

Now she let the tears fall freely, head bowed down in complete shame. His eyes trailed down to her stomach, so small in her tight red dress. She knew it was his favorite, the way it hung to her hips just tight enough to tease him until he could get home and rip it off of her. There was a life inside of that stomach now, one that he did not contribute to. It was not his.

He forced himself to look away from her belly and up at the hair that glittered so beautifully, even now. He tried to speak, to ask anything even if only to keep him from crying, but his mouth was dry. She spoke instead. "Do you remember when you went to New York to launch the new branch of your company?"

Of course he remembered. His startup launched quickly with Sam's help in marketing, and after only a few months of her help, it had enough income and investors to start branches across the country, New York being the first. He had insisted she come, but her mother became ill just hours before their flight was due to leave. Doubts flew through his mind and made his stomach churn. Did she lie about it? Was it a one-time thing? How long had it been going on? He said "yes," but it was so hoarse and inaudible that instead he only nodded his head.

"My mom was sick. You knew that." She paused a moment, wiping tears once again. The makeup she had taken to wearing recently was running down her face. _Was it for her lover?_ he couldn't help but think. "I spent the day taking care of her." She stopped again. He really didn't want to hear the story about the man who she would be leaving him for. The father of his girlfriend's baby. But he didn't stop her. "It was late and I needed my bag from the car. It was parked down the block." One more pause. "There was a man there." She closed her eyes as if once again in the moment. "He raped me, Freddie. I ignored him at first because I thought I could handle him if he tried anything but I couldn't and oh my god I'm so sorry." He thought that his mouth couldn't get any drier, but somehow it could. She broke down in front of him and the busy restaurant, and he couldn't even move to comfort her.

She sniffled, "My mother died while he was fucking me against the wall of a crack house. I should have been there for her. And I should have fought him off. And I couldn't and now I'm pregnant with this asshole's baby. Not your baby. It should have been your baby." Her crude language remained even in her pain. He almost wanted to laugh at how familiar her voice sounded even saying such awful words, but he remained frozen.

He remembered getting the call. It was 6AM in New York, too early for her to be up even if she was running on Eastern Time. Yet, she was calling him anyways. He was home by six that night, hearing only the news that her mother was dead. But she had to have been mourning something else as well.

The months of tears made sense. The way she flinched whenever he touched her unexpectedly but still wanting to hide in his arms. She suddenly lost both her mother and her strength, both pieces of her childhood now missing. He would never doubt her bravery, even now. She, however, felt weak, looked weak with mascara stains running down her face and neck until they got lost in the fabric of her dress.

For moments, he dared to feel betrayed that he didn't tell her. He couldn't help her mourn because he didn't know what she was mourning. It felt selfish to be upset, even more so as he saw in her tears the reasons she didn't tell anyone. At the same time, he was feeling a loss. Their future would be changed. They wouldn't be getting engaged tonight, likely no time in the near future. Instead, Sam would begin to show her pregnant stomach. Most people would believe it his. Would she correct them? Would he? Would she even keep it?

He said the question that was perhaps easiest for him to ask, "Are you going to keep it?"

"I don't know, Freddie." Their lives were now a series of 'I don't know's. Neither would know what to do next, how to move on with such a weight.

"Ok." That answer would have to be sufficient for now. Eventually they would work it out, decide together how to handle her news. Maybe things could work out okay. The question that really consumed them both, though, was "what if it doesn't?"


End file.
